


Sympathy for the Devil (Is Never a Good Idea)

by kashinoha



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Lucifer panicking over mortality, Trixie knows how to Handle Things, because Lucifer and Chloe never seem to have a scene longer than five minutes together, or the one in which the human rhinovirus makes Lucifer its bitch, quinoa shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:19:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashinoha/pseuds/kashinoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a great many favors are owed, and Trixie takes matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for the Devil (Is Never a Good Idea)

**Author's Note:**

> I always start a new fandom off with sickfic—even though this felt more like a writing exercise than an actual fic. I didn't even edit this one a great deal ( _Lucifer_ is a surprisingly difficult series to write for!). So here you go, 4K of pointless fluff.

**Sympathy for the Devil (Is Never a Good Idea)**

All characters © DC Comics and Neil Gaiman

 

 

 

Lux in the daytime held the ghosts of its nights in the quiet, the dents in leather settees, and the dust suspended in sunbeams.

Lucifer passed through one such sunbeam as he came down the stairs, glancing at a letter in his hand. “Maze, do we have any Montrachet? That French producer I told you about is in town this evening and I happen to have rather intimate knowledge of his alcoholic inclinations.”

Maze ran a hand along the bottles in the lower compartment behind the bar, finding one to her satisfaction and tapping it with a painted nail. “This Chardonnay's practically guaranteed to make him curl,” she said.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “It must be good then. Fellow’s a paraplegic.” He opened his mouth to say more but paused, blinking. Maze, who was extracting the bottle from its holder, did not notice. She did notice when Lucifer suddenly sneezed—loudly, and all over the letter he was holding.

She froze. “What was that?”

Lucifer held a finger under his nose. “Why, I think it was a _sneeze,”_ he said, looking utterly bewildered.

Maze carefully set the Chardonnay down on the counter and took the letter out of his hand with a forefinger and thumb. “That's not supposed to happen,” she said, eyes narrowing.

Frowning, Lucifer prodded the glands just beneath his jawline. If anything, he seemed more intrigued than upset. “I appear to be infected with a plague of sorts—a side effect no doubt of my burgeoning mortality,” replied Lucifer. He twitched his nose. “Fascinating.”

Maze was giving him a look one could easily mistake for revulsion, if not for the tic in her jaw. She shook her head. “First you bleed, now you’re catching human diseases," she said.

“Worried, are we, love?” Lucifer held up a finger, looking delighted. “Wait don’t answer that, I feel another one of these sneezes coming on.” He squinted, features softening, before doubling over with a second one. “Hmm,” he sniffed, straightening up, “I’m going to have to get used to this whole act of nasal expulsion.”

“It’s disgusting,” said Maze.

Lucifer grinned. “Isn’t it?”

 

 

 

By later that afternoon the novelty of mortal illnesses had worn off, leaving discomfort and dull, fuzzy misery in its wake. Lucifer lay sprawled on the upstairs bed, silk sheets wound around his ankles and a loathsome box of Kleenex overturned on the pillows beside him. The sheets’ impressive thread count paled in comparison to the number of tissues balled up on the covers like popped corn.

He was somewhere between awake, sleeping, and good _lord_ his head when something near his bed gave an electronic buzz. With a rare lack of grace Lucifer groped for his phone, tissues tumbling aside, and swiped it open.

“Always a pleasure to hear your voice, Detective.”

“I can’t say the same for you,” replied Chloe, on the other line. Her frown was practically visible. “Are you alright?”

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and rolled over on the bed. “Splendid. And they’re called catnaps, you should try them sometime. It would do magic for those wrinkles around your eyes.” He cleared his throat. “Now did you need something, Detective, or can I return to my beauty sleep?”

“Beauty sleep? Lucifer, It’s two-thirty in the afternoon.”

“Yes, well some of us have to work at night,” Lucifer said, surprised to find a twinge of irritation marring his brow. This ailment seemed to be compromising his tolerance levels. Interesting.

There was a sigh on the other end. “Anyway, Dan and I are stuck on the freeway because there was a jumper and I—“another sigh, louder—“god, I don’t even know why I’m asking you, but could you pick Trixie up from school? It looks like we’re going to be here a while.”

“Yes why _are_ you asking me?” Lucifer asked, grimacing.

“Let’s just say I want you to do me a favor,” replied Chloe. Lucifer knew her voice well enough to detect the sliver of humor wedged in there. On any other day he might have found that arousing.

He cleared his throat again with a wince. “That favor goes two ways, Detective.”

“Are you sure you’re good? Your voice sounds…funny.”

“Does it? I suppose it’s this new—“

A honk suddenly blared through the phone’s speakers, distracting them both. “Look, I don’t care, just watch Trixie until I get home. I have to go,” said Chloe, exasperated, and disconnected the line.

“Fine. But when I’m all better I will very much enjoy cashing in your favor, Chloe Decker,” Lucifer muttered to himself, grabbing another Kleenex.

 

 

 

Driving a ‘62 Corvette convertible into a public school zone took things to a whole new level of obnoxious—just what Lucifer needed to make himself feel better. He waded through a sea of sticky fingers and backpacks, contemplated sneezing on a few of them, and was nearly about to give in to temptation when Trixie barreled into him.

“Hi Lucifer,” she exclaimed happily. “Where’s mommy?”

“Out,” said Lucifer as he pried Trixie’s arms away from his middle. “She had a jumper, so she’s going to be a little late.”

Trixie blinked. “Why would exercise clothes make mommy late?” she asked, scrunching up her face.

Lucifer nodded to the car. “Why don’t you ask her when she gets home, yeah?”

The drive was mostly bearable, with Trixie rambling on about something called “jiffs” that Lucifer supposed was internet codespeak for annoying the hell out of schoolteachers. He managed to contain his coughing to a pitiful minimum, but by the time they pulled up to the Decker residence Trixie was starting to give him some odd looks. To top it off, Lucifer’s nose was beginning to twitch and tickle with the need to sneeze, so he attempted to shoo the kid away before he sprayed one of Chloe’s window flowering plants with mucus.

“Don’t you have homework to do, child?” he asked.

Trixie looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Homework before a snack?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you _crazy?”_

In a quick motion Lucifer strode over to the nearest cabinet, grabbed the first thing he saw, and thrust it at Trixie. “There you go, eat up,” he said.

Trixie wrinkled her nose at the bag of quinoa she was holding. “What’s this? I want Bugles.”

“We can’t always get what we want,” Lucifer said, his lip curling. “Except for me, but that’s because I’m the devil.”

“Miss Fleming calls me a little devil sometimes.”

Bugger, he wasn't going to make it. “Well isn’t that nice of her?” Lucifer managed, before sneezing harshly against the inside of his elbow.

Trixie suddenly forgot about the quinoa and the Bugles. “Are you sick, Lucifer?” she asked.

Lucifer pointedly ignored her and instead began to search for the Bugles. He still felt like sneezing, but bit the inside of his cheek against the sensation.

“Lucifer? Are you sick?” Trixie asked again.

“A single sneeze does not an illness make,” declared Lucifer, shaking the bag of newfound Bugles in his hand to make a point. It didn’t, really, but it gave him a sense of power and superiority.

Trixie frowned. “What about more than one? ‘Cause it looks like you’re gonna sneeze again.”

Lucifer resisted the urge to groan. “Here, eat your processed food.”

“The _whole bag?”_

He was about to reply when his now questionably immortal body decided it was the perfect time for a small fit of coughing. And, like the cherry atop this already disastrous cake, the fit ended with not one sneeze but several. He glared afterwards, pinching his nose shut with two fingers.

“Bless you,” Trixie giggled.

Lucifer sighed, his glare losing some of its ire. “Too late for that, child.”

“You have a cold,” announced Trixie.

Lucifer coughed again, looking reproachful. “Fine,” he said thickly, “I may have a _cold,_ but do me a favor and don’t tell your mummy about it, okay?”

“She’s gonna find out anyway.”

“What can I do to make sure it’s not from you, eh?” said Lucifer, falsely cheerful. “I can’t say I’m in the mood for doling out favors today, but I am known to make exceptions.”

Trixie thought about it. “Can I be a nurse?” she asked.

“You haven’t passed your A levels and you don’t have your front teeth.”

“You’re funny,” replied Trixie, grinning. “I’m gonna do what mommy does whenever _I’m_ sick.”

Lucifer set down the Bugles, suddenly intrigued. “Do go on.”

“First,” Trixie pointed to his feet, “shoes off.”

Lucifer obliged, more out of curiosity than anything, wordlessly sliding out of his shoes and setting them by the door. He was suddenly exhausted, and his trademarked Fires of Hell stare was proving ineffective on first-graders anyway. He might as well resign himself to whatever was in store.

Trixie’s finger moved to the couch in the next room. “Now sit.”

It was obvious that the seven-year-old was enjoying this. There was something about her body language when Trixie ordered him around that reminded Lucifer incredibly of Chloe. It may have been the way she crossed her arms, or the slight narrowing of the eyes. Either way, it was decidedly unsettling.

“Ooh, stylish,” Lucifer remarked as Trixie returned a few minutes later with a cartoon blanket, which she draped over his lap. He looked at the figure upside-down on the blanket. “And who is this?”

“Garnet,” replied Trixie.

“And she won’t mind if I get germs all over her?”

Trixie shook her head. “She doesn’t mind. I threw up on her last year.”

Lucifer grimaced. “Charming.”

 

 

 

A stretch of time later, Lucifer was actually starting to get comfortable. Trixie had given him one of her ice pops from the freezer, which was heaven on his throat (no pun intended), and a bag of Halls from the bathroom medicine cabinet. They were watching _Steven Universe_ on the TV. That came as somewhat of a surprise to Lucifer, who had previously held the image that all human girls between the ages of six and twelve were bananas over _Frozen._ Maybe Trixie had some good taste after all.

Or, maybe he had spoken too soon. “Are we seriously watching a show right now about anthropomorphized rocks? Is this how you spend your time, Trixie?” He tapped his chin. “The spawn of two detectives watching anatomically incorrect allegories save the world.”

Trixie gave him a look. “It’s deep,” she said.

 _Oh, what the hell,_ thought Lucifer, sighing and reaching for another cough drop.

 

 

 

Chloe returned a little past five, and after that it was only a matter of minutes before things went downhill. She locked the door behind her and plopped her bag onto a nearby chair, grumbling under her breath as she tied her hair up in a messy bun.

“Why do people try to kill themselves on weekdays?” she groused, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. She made her way towards the kitchen. “Why can’t they wait until Saturday, or Sunday?”

After pouring a glass of water from the fridge Chloe walked into the next room, where she could hear the television blaring. “Trixie, I’m—“she froze. “Jesus.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid,” croaked Lucifer.

“What’s—“Chloe looked from Trixie to Lucifer to the tissue box and twisted Halls wrappers on the couch beside him, her mind trying to process what she was seeing.

A moment passed before she settled on, “You look terrible.”

“Sadly we can’t all be walks in the park, Detective,” Lucifer replied, miffed. “I’m sure even you have days where people can’t bear to look at you. Speaking of which, did your jumper live?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or just plain obnoxious,” said Chloe, massaging her temples, “but yes, he did.”

With a grin, Lucifer replied, “What can I say, I am a man of many talents.” On the couch beside him, Trixie giggled.

“And he likes Steven Universe,” she told her mother in a stage-whisper. “Even if he says he doesn’t.”

Chloe sighed. “Trixie, sweetie, why don’t you get started on your homework?”

“Lucifer’s sick, mommy.”

Lucifer gave her a black scowl, but Trixie seemed not to notice. “You should make him your special soup,” she added, grabbing a final handful of Bugles before disappearing into the pink-sparkled confines of her bedroom.

“Special soup?” Lucifer frowned. “Is that like a code word for deathly poison, or something? Because frankly I have difficulty trusting anybody who keeps quinoa in their pantry.”

Instead of responding, Chloe waited until she heard the muffled snick of her daughter’s door closing before she rounded on Lucifer with her arms folded across her chest. “Alright, Lucifer. What’s wrong?”

“Well I would have thought that pretty obvious,” Lucifer said, gesturing to his face. He pushed the cartoon blanket aside and stretched, trying to appear casual. Chloe took in his glazed eyes, the red rims around them, and the pink spots of irritation around his nose. The lines around her mouth tightened.

“You’re panicking.”

Lucifer gave a congested snort. “Don’t be silly, Detective. I don’t _panic.”_

“Yes, you do. I’ve seen it before. You get defensive, passive-aggressive, and your sense of humor becomes wildly inappropriate,” said Chloe. “Not to mention you’re actually spending _time_ with Trixie. So _tell me_ what’s wrong.”

Lucifer gave her a furrowed, complicated look, eyebrows drawn together and dark eyes searching. Finally, he admitted, “It’s new.”

“What is?”

Lucifer sneezed. “This,” he managed, waving to the crumpled tissues and his now watering eyes. “The human rhinovirus, I think they’re calling it? It’s bloody annoying, that’s what it is. I mean I had heard rumors of course, but the real thing doesn't do them justice.”

Chloe blinked. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never been sick before,” she said.

“Well I wager it’s been a few thousand years, yes.”

Chloe took that as Luciferspeak for it’s been a while. “Okay,” she began, “but you know colds aren’t exactly life-threatening, right?”

It was Lucifer’s turn to sigh. “I’m not an imbecile, Detective,” he said, leaning against the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

Chloe came to sit down beside him, moving the blanket out of the way. “I never said you were,” she told him, softly. Her eyes fell to his arm, and a part of her wanted to touch it lightly. “But if you’d rather not share, then I can’t help you.”

“You don’t understand,” Lucifer said, “this isn’t supposed to happen.”

“Because you’re immortal?”

“Precisely.”

Chloe shrugged. Lucifer always found it fascinating how she did it with just her eyebrows. Chloe, he'd discovered, was a woman who mainly communicated with her hands and her face. Lucifer in turn used his eyes because, no matter what form he took, they never changed.

“Last I checked, immortals were still people. And people get sick,” Chloe told him.

Lucifer made a face. “Not me.” But no sooner had he spoken than Lucifer broke into a string of harsh-sounding coughs. He grappled for the half-finished water Chloe had set down earlier and took several needed gulps, collapsing against the couch with a groan.

Chloe shook her head, incredulous. “You—you realize I’m actually feeling sorry for you, Lucifer?” she said. At this, Lucifer seemed to perk up. Chloe immediately became suspicious; it was a general rule in their partnership that if Lucifer was happy, it was usually at her expense.

“Really?” Lucifer asked, an impish smile spreading across his face. “Why, I had no idea you possessed a motherly instinct, Detective. Does this mean you’re going to take care of me? Spoon-feed me sou—”

“—It _means,”_ interrupted Chloe, “that the minute I’m sure you’re not going to die in a ditch somewhere, I’m kicking you out of my house.”

“Well that’s certainly an improvement, then,” exclaimed Lucifer.

Chloe decided to change the subject. “Do you have a fever? Because with you, I honestly can’t tell,” she said.

“Oh, Trixie took care of that,” Lucifer replied. “Took my temperature and everything. Her bedside manner is positively Spartan.” He shot Chloe a sly glance. “Can’t help but think she gets that from you, Detective.”

“Thank god for small favors,” muttered Chloe. Lucifer looked less than a millisecond away from making one of his Biblical puns, so she quickly asked, “Well?”

“Slight fever by your standards, but I tend to run a bit hotter than normal people. Nothing that will prevent me from some lovely French conversation tonight.” Lucifer held up a finger. “I attended several salons in the seventeenth century so I happen to be quite well-versed in the art.”

Chloe blinked, sidetracked. “…you know French?”

“And everything else,” said Lucifer. He grinned. “Go on, test me.”

“I’d rather not,” Chloe said. She had no desire to practice her college Spanish on Lucifer, despite the fact that Dan and Trixie could probably talk circles around them both. Dan had been teaching Trixie on Saturday mornings, and Spanish was as good a language as any to learn in California.

She got up and walked over to the inlet kitchen to wash her hands. It was a bit of a long shot, but last she checked she still had all the ingredients in her fridge to make the soup. And yes, it may have been her nurturing side poking out through the folds of pantsuits and professionalism, but she _was_ in fact a mother. If for two rather than one today.  

From the couch Lucifer gave a funny, strangled sound and made a face. “Tell me Detective, is there normally such an abundance of mucus with these cold things?” he asked. "I'm all sort of...leaky. It's actually quite unpleasant."

“You know if your throat is sore it’s probably not a good idea to talk so much,” Chloe said, drying her hands with a towel. For once Lucifer seemed to shut up, rolling his shoulder blades back as if they ached and pooling the _Steven Universe_ blanket over his knees.

Chloe worked on the soup in silence—a lengthy silence unlike anything she had ever experienced in Lucifer’s presence. She could hear the tick of her watch's second hand, a bird call outside, cars passing by the house. It was blissful, serene.

And also a bit worrying.

“Okay, when you’re this quiet I am officially concerned,” she said, when she could not take it any longer.

“Sympathy for the devil is never a good idea, Detective,” Lucifer said, sounding groggy. His eyes were closed, head lolling against the back of the couch so that his Adam’s apple jutted out. It bobbed when he swallowed.

Lucifer still had his eyes shut so Chloe glared at the carrots currently on her cutting board, lips pursing. “I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were sick,” she said.

Lucifer cracked an eye open. “You were busy," he said. "And what, did you expect me to announce it to the world?”

“Like you do with everything?”

“Well excuse me if I want to keep some things private,” said Lucifer, wrinkling his nose. He seemed more awake now.

Chloe shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’re in a cranky mood today,” she observed.

“I think I have every right to be,” replied Lucifer, before emitting a giant sneeze into the cartoon blanket. He emerged dazed and sniffling, rolling his eyes at the amused look on Chloe’s face as he reached for a Kleenex. “Spare me a moment of dignity, Detective?” he asked, tissue over his nose.

Chloe’s smile widened, and she dropped the carrots into the pot. They made a hissing sound as the scalding water overtook them.

“Not a chance,” she said.   

 

 

 

Lucifer found himself dozing until the sounds of silverware clanking against porcelain roused him.

Trixie was at the table, slurping her soup with gusto, and Chloe was carefully doling out another portion into an empty bowl.

“Here,” Chloe said, bringing the bowl to him, “don’t get up.”

Lucifer rubbed at his eye. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Last I checked, I owe you a favor,” Chloe said. She handed him the bowl, which was warm under Lucifer’s fingers. Lucifer gave her a once over: dishtowel slung over one shoulder, escaped strands of hair dangling from a loose bun, a spot of chicken stock at the bottom of her shirt. He began to smirk.

“Isn't this a treat?” he remarked. “You, waiting on me—“

Chloe shoved a napkin at him. “Don’t push it, Lucifer.”

Lucifer sighed. “Right, then. Could be worse.”

“Really?” Trixie said, from the table.

“My brother could find out about this. Not to mention dear old Dad, who likely already knows and is laughing his celestial arse off Upstairs.” Lucifer’s head throbbed at the mere thought. 

“Hey,” Chloe said, sitting down beside him, “it happens to the best of us.”

This made Lucifer arch his eyebrows. “I’m the best of you?” He tilted his head to the side, intrigued. “Now _that’s_ one I haven’t heard before,” he said.

Chloe gestured to the bowl. “Just do me a favor and eat your soup, okay?”

“I think we’re getting a little confused about who owes who the favors, but if you insist.” Lucifer dipped his spoon into the soup and took a sip. He made a face.

“Too hot?” Chloe asked.

Lucifer shook his head in wonder. “My, this is _splendid,”_ he exclaimed.

Chloe bit back a grin. It was rare to get genuine praise from Lucifer, at least while he was sober. “Glad you like it.” _Now shut up and eat,_ she wanted to add, but decided against it solely because her daughter was in the room.

“I helped mommy a little bit,” Trixie announced proudly. Her legs dangled from the chair she was sitting on and, as she spoke, she swung them lightly.  

“She stirred,” Chloe clarified. “But needless to say Trixie’s been a great nurse. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna be a doctor someday,” Trixie told them.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be the finest,” replied Lucifer, surprising himself with the lack of sarcasm in what he’d just said.

“Sweetie, if you’re done with your dishes can you put them in the sink?”

“Okay, mommy.”

Trixie swung herself off the chair and brought her empty bowl into the kitchen. With that done, she skipped back to her room to finish whatever schoolwork she still had, shooting Lucifer a wide, gap-toothed grin along the way.

“Your daughter has taken a liking to the devil,” Lucifer remarked, nodding towards the door. “I see a lot of promise for her in the Circles of Hell.”

Chloe swept some hair out of her eyes. “If she can survive this divorce then I’m certain she can survive the inferno,” she said dryly. 

Lucifer struggled into a more upright position while balancing the nearly-finished soup in his lap. “You know you’re very good at brushing things off,” he observed. “I mean I _have_ told you on multiple occasions that I am in fact the devil, and you just sort of…I don’t know, _ignore_ it. It’s rather vexing.”

“Not really. Everyone in LA has an act,” Chloe said, shrugging. “I’ve learned to take a lot in stride.”

“Regardless of whether or not you actually believe it?” The soup was making his nose run, so Lucifer reached for his napkin.

Chloe said, “If they believe it, and it’s not hurting anybody, then why shouldn’t I?”

”Because unlike the simpletons of Hollywood, I’m actually telling the truth.”

Chloe was silent for a moment, her eyes on Lucifer in a way that was not exactly pitying, but that made something in Lucifer’s back twinge.

“When Trixie was four,” she began, “she convinced herself that she was a rabbit. I still remember it. She would only eat carrots and salad and—“Chloe laughed at the memory—“and she would wiggle her nose like this and hop around the house.”

Lucifer lowered the napkin from his face and folded it twice over. “So you supported the delusion.”

“Of course I did. It gave her a new perspective on life, not to mention it was the only way to get her to eat her vegetables back then. She eventually outgrew it,” Chloe told him.

“Yes well I’m not a four-year-old, nor am I insane,” said Lucifer, his eyes hard and taut at the corners.

Chloe shook her head, replied, “I never said you were." She deliberated. "At least, not recently.”

Lucifer snorted.

“I mean it,” Chloe said. She held out her hand and continued, “Your act is obviously a way to cope with past trauma. You deflect with humor and stories, which is classic escapist behavior, and—"

"Oh you have _no_ idea, Detective."

"—and if it’s how you get through the day then there’s no reason for me to say otherwise.”

“You really think that?” Lucifer finished the last of his soup, relaxed into the couch, and yawned. “It’s a good theory, I’ll give you that,” he said. “And although I appreciate the profiling, I already have one psychologist, thank you very much.”

Chloe’s lips thinned knowingly. “Hm. Maybe you should try listening to her.”

“Been there, done that,” said Lucifer, waving his hand. “She never tells me anything I want to hear.”

Chloe propped an elbow against the back of the couch, looking thoughtful. “Neither do I, but somehow you’re still working with the both of us,” she noted.

“Touché.”

After another rare moment of silence, Lucifer glanced at the wooden clock on the wall and subsequently pushed himself into a forward position with a sniff. It was then that he noticed the mound of tissues and twisted wrappers scattered about him. He bit his lip, almost sheepish. “Should I, ah…?” he asked, gesturing to the little white balls. He seemed slightly out of his element. A part of Chloe found that just a little bit endearing.

Chloe shook her head. “Um, no, you can—you can leave them,” she said.  

“Well. For my first time being ill, this wasn’t so bad,” Lucifer declared, clapping his hands together. “That is in part thanks to you, Detective.” He offered her the empty soup bowl. “And your spawn.”

“You’re welcome. Now we’re even,” Chloe said, taking the bowl from him. This made Lucifer chuckle until he started coughing.

“Even? Bugger that. I’ve heard these things are quite contagious, so I’ll likely be stuck making _you_ soup in a couple days. Or that quinoa tosh you like.” He scoffed. _“Even.”_

Chloe blanched. “O _ho,_ no. If I catch this from you I will make your life a living hell,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

“I’d rather you didn’t, Detective, since I’ve been trying my best to get away from it. Escapist behavior, remember?”

“So you’ve said.” Chloe sighed. “I know you have work tonight but take it easy, okay?”

Lucifer coughed again. “Please. Making sweet-talk with a French paraplegic is kittens compared to some of my other bar guests,” he said. He still sounded incredibly congested, but he no longer had that glassy-eyed pallor from earlier in the afternoon.

Chloe gave a small smile. Lucifer would always be Lucifer, whether he was pushing people out of windows or leaking snot from his face. In a way it was vexing, to use his word.

Lucifer was peering at her with a pinched expression. “You’ve gotten all spacey on me, Detective,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve already caught this plague.”

“I don’t go down that easy,” Chloe joked.

Lucifer slipped on his shoes at the door, but hesitated as he was doing up the laces. “Look, I don’t normally do this,” he started, craning his neck up at Chloe, “but…” he exhaled and clenched his jaw. “Tell Trixie she can have a favor from me, if she likes.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll, uh, pass it on. You know you’re making a big mistake though, right?”

“A little girl who thinks she’s a rabbit and worships fictional aliens? Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Famous last words,” said Chloe, dry. And wasn’t _that_ a story for another time, Lucifer thought, his smile shrinking by a few molars. Chloe gave him a gentle pat on his upper arm, meeting his eye.

“Feel better, Lucifer.”

And somehow, Lucifer did. It was not the soup or the ungodly amount of Halls he had consumed. It was not the prickling divinity inside him, protesting at ravaged cells desperate to heal. Nor was it the soothing hum of a transaction neatly completed.

It was the two people in that house who had taken him under their wings, metaphorically speaking. They had cared for him without a true desire for favors or tokens or the like.

So with a soft smile Lucifer headed towards Lux, and Maze, knowing that while they were his moonlight, the humans were his light in the day. His humans. His morning stars.  

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally becoming okay with that.

 

 

_End._

 


End file.
